


Scratch the Record

by Carazhan



Category: X Factor (US) RPF
Genre: F/F, High School AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carazhan/pseuds/Carazhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU. Camila doesn’t make it through her X-Factor audition, and is tormented relentlessly for it to the point where she snaps and physically assaults another student. Newly expelled, she finds herself treading into the unfamiliar waters of Lauren’s high school. Lauren, who’s also nursing her wounds after not making it past Boot Camp (due in part to Fifth Harmony never being formed), recognizes Camila from the Greensboro auditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch the Record

**Author's Note:**

> And so I return to the field of writing chaptered fics. Please be patient with me, I might take anywhere from a day to a week or two between updates, depending on the mood I'm in and my motivation level. Buuut I do hope you enjoy!

It’s the ticking of the clock that drives you to it. The hissing whispers whirling around you while time peters by. Unforgiving, and without sympathy. You’ve lived your entire life wishing for silence, so it’s nothing short of ironic that you got just that at the worst possible moment in time. Everyone freezes up from time to time, your mother told you afterwards. It’s just a damn shame you did it in front of the world.

And they will never forget.

Tick.

You clench and loosen your hands, bite your lip, shut your eyes, count to ten, exhale, inhale, but still you give in to the itching sensation spreading across your arms - your wrists - and somewhere far away, but very, very, close, there is a laugh and your eyes open and you see.

They’ll never forget. You won’t let them.

Tock.

Finally, the moment of silence comes. Everyone looks, and holds their breath, but you stare ahead, already standing as the bell begins to ring. Somewhere far away, but not nearly as close, a voice is barking tonight’s homework through a cloak of rumbling teenage conversations.

You step into the hall, notebook clenched at your side, and to your left, suddenly clear, you hear a derisive snort and the start of what’s undoubtedly an overtired insult. They won’t forget, not when your books are on the ground and your chest is heaving and your hand is aching and blood is running down their face.

You wouldn’t let them forget.

=======

The next time a ringing fills your ears, you don’t think about being angry or what you’ve fucked up. This time, you’re mournful and more than a little apprehensive. It’s seven a.m. and you can’t screw up again. You’re stuck for good, this time. No more second chances, or you can kiss your education goodbye. And that’s what all of this was supposed to be for, right?

In retrospect it’s not so much a second chance as a rebirth. Your teachers will know all about you, but your classmates won’t. They won’t know that you’re only there by an academic scholarship and the grace of God, or that you’re more than a little awkward and boy band-obsessed. No one will know about X Factor, because heavens be praised, your freeze-up wasn’t televised. Perhaps most importantly, they won’t know that you finally snapped under your peers’ scrutiny and broke a girl’s nose in three places.

Again, it’s nothing short of ironic. She was always talking to her friends about how she wanted nothing more than a nose job. But you probably shouldn’t be giggling at someone’s expense. It’s not very… nice. Of you. And Camila is all about the niceties, even if Karla wasn’t.  
It’s time for your rebirth, and you couldn’t feel more conflicted about it.

=======

Thankfully your meltdown happened towards the end of the school year, so it’s not like you’ve been dropped completely in the middle of things. With a school of over three thousand kids, you’re not the only new face. You’re always thankful for small graces. It’s easier to fly under the radar this way.

Or, so you think, at least until you realize that even with a population of thirty-four hundred, this place is even cliquier than your old school. Must be the imported water. It’s in the rich part of town, after all. It’s not a huge deal, though. So people have noticed you’re new. There’s still other newbies you can blend in with. Like a pack of zebras, or something.

There’s no reason to be anything other than calm and cool. After all, you’re Camila Cabello, the girl with no past and only a future ahead of her. Don’t sweat it. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep your eyes straight ahead and breathe deeply and don’t you dare bat an eyelash at the surrounding whispers. They’re just talking. Probably about boys, or fashion, or about how you’ve totally got neither of those in your corner of the ring.

The clock ticks, and your wrists itch. It’s been too long, and you need to clear the silence in your head, so you crack your knuckles one by one. You guess it’s a new habit you picked up, after the incident. Only your right hand does it. Something in the punch must’ve screwed your joints up, but your family probably couldn’t pay to fix it even if that were the case. Whatever, you’ll probably end up getting arthritis when you’re old. No biggie, and besides, you think, as you glance up and around the classroom, you actually have to live to your golden years for that to happen.

=======

Lunch is really awkward. The school’s big enough that they have multiple lunch blocks, but the space in the cafeteria is still severely limited. And by that, you mean the only free spaces are at otherwise inhabited tables. You really should’ve made an effort to at least talk to one other person this morning. Then you’d have at least a shot at someone taking sympathy on you.

What the hell even happened to all of your mythical zebras, anyways? So much for that plan. Disguising yourself in a group only works with a lion or two. Not several thousand. You should’ve known better. Fucking science. Who needs it, anyways?

But seeing as the deck is already stacked against you, you should probably return to your natural habitat of - ah, screw the science metaphors. You’re brownbagging it as is, so you may as well go outside to eat alone like the loser you are. At least the sun isn’t too aggressive today, because you don’t need hypothetical skin cancer on top of your hypothetical arthritis. Even so, you make sure to pick a relatively shaded spot behind the gym, just to the right of the track field where a class is running laps. You get a few jealous glares as you curl up in your little slice of not-quite heaven, eating a banana.

It’s not a very good start.


End file.
